"I could make him love me!" she panted in conclusion. "I shouldn't even need to make him, he's in love with me now. But I could make him happy. You think I can't. You think I can't! You know you think I can't!"
I laid my hand on hers; she slapped at it petulantly, but without any great desire to hurt, I fancied.
"Mrs. O'Rane——"
"Why don't you call me Sonia?" she interrupted with complete detachment from all that we had been discussing. "Everyone does. I suppose you prefer to keep—at a distance!"
And then I did a thing which still surprises me. I got up and sat on the edge of her bed. (There was a spring-mattress which I largely capsized, so that she was thrown half on her side.) I put one arm round her shoulders, drew her to me and kissed her on the forehead and both cheeks. I remember thinking at the time what an amazing thing it was to do, and the thought was confused with a knowledge that her face was dry and burning. She put her arms on my shoulders and returned the kiss; quite dispassionately I noticed that her lips were crumpled and dry as brown paper.
"Don't you think you're really rather a silly baby, Sonia?" I said. "If you could remember the times we've met, I should tell you frankly that for half of them I wanted to go away and keep at the farthest possible distance. For the other half——"
Her eyes brightened in anticipation of a compliment.
"Well?"
"It doesn't matter now. Why won't you believe that everyone here wants to help you?"
"Because I don't see why they should. I didn't expect it, I don't ask for it; I made up my mind at the time...."